


The Frog Prince

by Arionrhod, McKay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arionrhod/pseuds/Arionrhod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/McKay
Summary: Two writers learn about the true power of words to forge connections.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009.

_Dear Mr. Lupin -_

_Enclosed please find your residuals check for this month. Sales of "Eternal Moonlight" have continued to surpass expectations, and next quarter, we expect to begin marketing the Japanese translation to the broad Pacific market. Congratulations on your continued success._

_Yours,  
Norma Preslyn  
Infinity Publications _

 

Remus held the letter in his hand and sighed, wondering why neither it nor the substantial cheque enclosed with it did anything to raise his spirits. He had finally become what he had dreamed of being: a successful, published author. His book had sold enough copies that if he was wise with his investments, he'd never have to work an outside job again, and he could spend all his time doing what he loved most. Yet instead of being happy about it, instead of dancing with glee at being vindicated after nearly twenty years of ceaseless work and millions of words, he wanted nothing more than to lie down on his sofa and never move again.

There was a handwritten note at the bottom of the typewritten page: "Remus, when are you going to do a sequel? We've got all the major bookstore chains ready to break down the door! You need to strike while the iron is hot. Fame is fleeting! Norma." The words made Remus' spirit sink even lower, and he tossed the letter and the cheque down on the sofa table and crossed to his sideboard to retrieve a bottle of whiskey. He wasn't normally a drinker; in fact, this bottle was left over from a party that his university flatmate, Sirius, had insisted he throw five years ago to celebrate his birthday. It had sat untouched since that time, and now he realized why he'd kept it. Just in case.

Pouring the amber liquid into a glass, Remus didn't hesitate before tossing back half the contents, inducing a coughing fit which made his eyes water and his nose run, as well as threatening to peel the lining from his throat. He didn't dare think of what the stuff was going to do to his stomach; all he knew was that he needed to dull himself before he went from bestselling author to one of those people who inexplicably walked into traffic or threw themselves under a train.

The sofa beckoned, and Remus dropped down onto it, feeling tired and far older than his thirty-six years. He despised people who felt sorry for themselves, but he was in imminent danger of doing just that. Sipping more cautiously at his drink, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, wondering what he could do to break out of the horrific rut he'd fallen into for the last six months. What he needed was advice, but part of his problem was that there wasn't a single person he knew whom he could talk to about what he'd done. They'd be appalled, or worse, they'd laugh, and he couldn't take that at the moment.

His mother had always said that confession was good for the soul, but Remus cringed at the thought of talking to someone about it. It seemed he would have to hold things in, as he always did. He knew that eventually, he was going to end up with hypertension or an ulcer, but there wasn't much help for it. Fortunately, the alcohol did help, at least a bit, since it made him feel tired. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to check his email and go to bed; things probably wouldn't be any better in the morning, but at least it would be a different day.

His laptop was set up on the same scratched dining room table that he'd used as desk for years, its surface piled high with reference books. His flat was small, since he'd not been able to work up any enthusiasm about spending much of the money he'd earned, not even to move to a place where he could have a proper office. The table itself was the one that had occupied the kitchen of his childhood home, which his mother had given to him after his father had died and she'd moved in with her sister. It was a muddy brown color, and its varnish was peeling away, but it was where Remus had begun writing as a teen, and he couldn't bear to give it up or even refinish it. He'd written nearly every word on its ugly, familiar surface, first on lined sheets of school paper, and then in tablets, and then finally on the secondhand computer he'd bought for school. His current computer was his one concession to excess: a gleaming, sleek, cutting edge laptop with as much memory and disk space as he could cram into its slender metal case, with a wireless Internet connection that meant he could take it anywhere and still be connected. He'd bought it in a fit of optimism after _Eternal Moonlight_ had sold, figuring that he could finally finish his _serious_ work. 

He sat down in his normal chair - one of the legs was pegged together with a screw several inches too long, which always snagged his trousers - and pressed the enter key to wake the computer up. It greeted him with a whine and several beeps, indicating that he had several emails to get through. Most of them were probably junk, but he still hadn't given up hope that he might have an acknowledgment on the sample chapter he'd sent out. Probably not, but it was hard to give up on that dream.

Sure enough, his inbox was full of spam - really, did _anyone_ answer those ridiculous ads claiming they could give you horse-sized genitals? - and a few digests of mailing lists he followed. There was also an email from Sirius, and Remus clicked on it, wondering what his old friend was up to. Sirius was a sporadic correspondent at best, and usually when he wrote, it was about his love life, but it was the closest thing Remus had to social interaction these days.

Surprisingly, Sirius' email was a rant about some advice columnist. Apparently Sirius had seen a letter in the column from someone writing about fancying himself in love with his best friend's wife, and the reply had incensed him. _Moony, can you believe this? The guy must be an utter wanker. Probably tosses off to his own image in the mirror since no one could ever admire him as much as he does himself!_ Remus chuckled, and he looked at what had gotten Sirius so riled up.

 _Get help or get over it,_ the columnist had written. _Either you have severe commitment issues that make you fixate on someone unattainable so you don't have to take any emotional risks or you're a jealous, back-stabbing bastard. The commitment issues can be helped with therapy, but there is no hope if you're a self-absorbed wanker who can't stand seeing other people happy. Either way, you aren't much of a real friend if you persist in harboring this secret attraction._

That caused one of Remus' brows to lift. Apparently the writer wasn't worried about being liked or about hurting anyone's feelings, not with such a bald declaration. Personally Remus agreed with the sentiments, though, especially since he had a sneaking suspicion about why Sirius was so irate over this particular column. It wouldn't do to upset his friend, however, and so Remus sent back a soothing reply, saying that circumstances were everything and really, the columnist was being too harsh and judgmental.

Once he'd hit send, Remus found himself googling the columnist on a whim, wondering if the man was always so forthright. He found the website for what proved to be a syndicated column - _Princely Proclamations_ \- and in less than a minute, he was immersed in the letters and responses, finding himself fascinated by the things people were willing to admit to a total stranger. The responses ranged from vitriolic to sarcastic to bitingly humorous, and more than once, Remus laughed aloud. He didn't feel the replies were mean-spirited, despite their sometimes waspish wording; the columnist pulled no punches, and frankly, some of the things people were asking advice about were stupid beyond measure. 

He read until his eyes began to ache with strain, and then he sat back, rubbing at them and blinking. It occurred to him that the people who wrote were probably serious about their problems, no matter how trivial, idiotic, or pathetic they might seem to him, but he thought a good dose of the columnist's bracing reality could help most of them.

Then it struck him so hard that he gasped aloud. Maybe what _he_ needed was a dose of reality, some practical advice from someone who didn't have an investment in him as a friend, a publisher, or a family member. If he wrote about his problem to the columnist, he'd be safe behind a mask of anonymity, and not only would he be able to unburden himself of the horrid, crushing doubts he felt, perhaps the man might even have useful suggestions about what he should do as well.

There was a submission form for sending anonymous questions, and Remus clicked on it before he allowed himself to think twice about the matter. Maybe the alcohol was giving him a bit of dutch courage, but he didn't care. Even if he never got a response, at least he could pour out his feelings, and that was something he needed rather desperately.

_Dear Mr. Prince - Just today I was introduced to your column, and after reading your pragmatic replies to others, I decided to write you about my own problem..._

* * *

Severus adjusted his reading glasses and moved his glass of wine closer as he settled in to review the questions that Kate, his assistant, had forwarded to him; it was her job to read all of his email and weed out the vitriol, threats, blatant jokes, marriage proposals, and boringly banal questions, passing along only those she thought he might consider answering for the column. It fell to him to read through those and decide which ones he wanted to answer, a task that required a comfortable chair and lots of booze.

He hadn't set out to be an agony aunt. No, when he'd decided he wanted to be a writer, he'd intended to write novels, not an advice column; that he was good at dispensing advice only added insult to injury, in his opinion. But his mother had been "Dear Eileen" for over thirty years, and when she grew too ill to continue, she had asked him to fill in "temporarily". It was a temporary job that had lasted eighteen years. For the first ten years, he had kept up the "Dear Eileen" persona, but as his own voice had developed and his bosses had decided to try to appeal to a broader audience, he had turned "Dear Eileen" into "Princely Proclamations", signing himself as "E. Prince" as a nod to carrying on his mother's legacy.

It wasn't that he hated his job. He found it annoying at times, especially when he was confronted by people who lacked the common sense God gave a gnat, but he didn't hate it; he just wanted to do something else with his life. He'd had other plans, plans that didn't involve pointing out the obvious to people too stupid to see it, but every time he made noises about quitting in favor of getting back to _real_ writing, his boss, Albus - a relentlessly cheerful, twinkly man - threw more money at him, dangled promises of wider syndication, and told stories about how dedicated his mother had been to helping people in need until the combined weight of pragmatism and guilt sent Severus back to the keyboard to meet his next deadline.

Reaching for his wine, he downed half the glass before he opened his email at last and began skimming the letters in search of one that sparked his interest. He had deleted over sixty before one captured his attention enough to keep reading past the first paragraph.

_Dear Mr. Prince - Just today I was introduced to your column, and after reading your pragmatic replies to others, I decided to write you about my own problem. I know it will may seem foolish, but it's something that has kept me from focusing on or enjoying anything in months. I suppose in the most basic sense, it is a case of being hoist by my own petard._

_I have labored at my calling for nearly two decades with little success. I didn't mind too much, really, because sometimes achieving your goals takes persistence, and in many ways, what I do is something I enjoy a great deal, so much that I would do it whether I was getting paid for it or not. Yet at the same time, like anyone who creates for a living, whether as an artist, an architect, a writer or an inventor, I did crave to be recognized for doing something outstanding, something that touched people and gave them enjoyment. So I labored away at part-time jobs to support myself, while I spent the rest of my time honing my craft and creating something that, to me, was the sum of my ability, the thing for which I would be proud to be remembered for the rest of my life._

_Unfortunately what I felt was great and what the rest of the world thinks is great are far from agreement, and my work was rejected unconditionally by every sponsor whom I approached._

_In a fit of bitterness at what I consider to be the narrow-minded focus of those sponsors, I sat down and created a satire, a parody of the things they said they my work should be but wasn't. I threw in every trite, hackneyed, overdone element I could think of, mocking their shallowness and handing it back to them. The thing I produced was, I thought, something that would make any intelligent human being cringe with disgust or horror. Perhaps I was a bit out of my head, but I was quite ready to burn bridges at that point, feeling I had little to lose._

_Need I say that my great mockery ended up being embraced by them as something fantastic, far better than my real work?_

_So now I am in the situation of being praised for something I loathe, something that I created only to demonstrate how little I cared for what was popular. I have made more money in the last few months than I've ever had before in my entire life, and I'm now being pressed to create yet more work in a similar vein. I can't tell my family and friends what I've done, and I don't want it to get out in general, either, because that particular bit of information would bring more notoriety than I ever care to achieve. At the same time, I've found my creativity has dried up and disappeared completely, leaving me unable to be happy about much of anything. I literally have no desire to do anything any longer, and my life feels emptier than I ever would have imagined._

_Any advice you have would be appreciated, as at this point I've simply no idea what to do._

_Yours,  
R in London _

Severus rarely found himself relating to the problems to which he responded; his advice was objective, given from the perspective of an outsider with no vested interest in the matter. But this... this hit a little too close to home for him to be entirely objective. For a moment, he was tempted not to answer it for that reason alone, but something about the letter captured his interest, and he copied it and pasted it into a new document, setting up the formatting as a way of stalling while he tried to figure out what to say.

_Dear R. in London:_

_You are hardly the first person to end up stuck in a situation you didn't expect to be in, doing something out of obligation while your dreams shrivel up like the proverbial raisin in the sun, and you will not be the last. I suggest you assess the matter objectively and decide what you want to do. Just because someone pressures you to continue your work does not mean you are obligated to give in to that pressure. Nor are you obligated to reveal your true motives if you do choose to continue._

_You have achieved unexpected success. I suggest you reap the financial benefits, let go of any guilt or sense of obligation to continue, and take a break. You seem to be creating a great deal of pressure for yourself, and it is time to break the cycle. Perhaps taking a holiday to someplace tropical where they serve fruity drinks with paper umbrellas in them will help you clear your head and revive your muse. If that locale doesn't appeal, then try somewhere else. Whatever you do, you need to get off the mental hamster wheel as soon as possible before you give in to the pressure of popularity._

_E. Prince_

Severus gave the response a quick edit before emailing it to Kate, trying to put it out of his mind before he could start wondering whether he'd been writing to R in London or to himself.

* * *

The waiter who delivered Remus' drink to his seat was tall, dark-haired, and had an arse to die for, and he was young enough to make Remus feel like a dirty old man just for thinking about him.

"Thank you, Raoul," Remus said, taking the tall, frosty, lime-topped glass from the tray and smiling at the young man in what he hoped was a kindly rather than lustful way. He wasn't entirely successful, and while the light of interest in Raoul's dark eyes was flattering, Remus knew he could never move past his own introversion enough to do anything about it. Being an employee of the beach resort, Raoul couldn't do anything about it, either - or at least not initiate it - and so when Remus didn't say anything further, he nodded politely and moved away. Remus watched Raoul go over the top of his sunglasses, feeling guilty for ogling but unable to stop himself.

He turned his attention to the ocean as he once again silently thanked "E. Prince", who had suggested he do what he was doing now. He looked down at the paper umbrella in his glass and raised his drink in a silent salute to the columnist who had broken him out of his rut. Not that he'd been able to write a damned word yet, but at least he was sitting in the beautiful surrounding of the South of France rather than his tiny flat in Soho while he was not-writing. It wasn't a solution, but it would do for the moment.

Remus had been surprised and pleased by the practical advice, and he wondered if secretly he'd just wanted someone to tell him it wasn't some form of literary prostitution to enjoy what were, to him, ill-gotten gains. Perhaps he was a bit mad for haring off out of the country - his first trip abroad ever - on the advice of someone he'd never met, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. And he had to admit the scenery was much better, even if the sight of so many lithe, tanned men made him ache with the realization that he'd just as effectively sacrificed any relationships for his art as he'd sacrificed that art for money, however unintentionally he'd done it. It made him stop and think about just how much he'd given up to write, and while he'd been happy to do it, life had also been passing him by.

Most of his university friends were married - he'd gone to most of the weddings, the most recent of which as nearly ten years ago - and had children, building families and careers while Remus had been typing away, creating his world while they'd been living in theirs. He still wanted to write, but now that he'd noticed he was alone, he had to admit he was also lonely. He wasn't the sort for parties or whatever passed for the social scene these days, but watching the couples strolling along the beach, hand in hand, made him yearn for someone - a special someone - who would understand him and share the kind of quiet things he enjoyed. 

Sipping at his tonic water, Remus wondered if he'd cut himself off so completely that he'd never be able to find anyone. He was introverted by nature, much better at expressing himself in writing than in speech, and he didn't think he was anything much to look at. Years of frugality had meant that he was used to wearing his hair long and his clothes were unfashionable, and yet he wasn't certain that making a huge change was the right thing to do, either. He didn't want to become something he wasn't just to attract a mate, since then everything would be based on a lie. He'd had quite enough of obfuscation and deception already, and if he was going to have a relationship, he wanted it to be natural, stemming from shared interests and mutual attraction.

The thing was, he had no idea how to go about even looking; he was exclusively attracted to men and always had been, and while things had gotten better for homosexuals in the last few years, it still wasn't easy, and prejudices didn't disappear overnight. He'd had a few sexual encounters at school, but he'd been circumspect about them, and none of them had lasted. So here he sat, alone on a beautiful beach at sunset, wondering when life had decided to pass him by.

"I should ask the Prince," he murmured to himself, and then he snorted in amusement at his own nonsense. The columnist's name had, perversely enough, given Remus a mental image of a crowned frog sitting on a lily pad, uttering his proclamations as he waited for the princess to show up and release him from his spell. It was sometimes as much a curse as a blessing to be gifted with an active imagination, and he had no doubt that the columnist who'd helped him would be highly offended to be cast as some cursed creature in a modern fairytale.

Still, there was something Remus could do, and he sat his drink on the chair-side table and reached into his bag to pull out his laptop. In a few minutes, his wireless connection was established and he was busily typing away, first setting up a new email account and then pulling up the Princely Proclamations website. He clicked on the link to send a question, since he didn't know how else to get in touch.

_Dear Mr. Prince -_

_I'd like to thank you for your advice, which I am happy to tell you I've taken. Even as I write this, I am sitting in a beach chair with a frosty, umbrella-embellished drink, listening to the ocean, and enjoying the scenery. It's the first holiday I can remember taking, and I think it is having the benefit you claimed it would. I know it's not a solution to all my problems, and I do have some hard thinking to do at some point, but for now, I'm mostly content to relax, let go of the stress, and simply exist._

_I know you're a busy man, but if you ever have any desire to reply to me, I can be reached at rjl@mail.com. I do appreciate your good advice, and I hope that your publisher appreciates your abilities as much as I do._

_Sincerely,  
R in London  
_

* * *

Severus had made it a policy not to offer more than one response per person and not to engage in conversation with anyone who wrote to him, and Kate was diligent about making certain he wasn't pestered by the idiots who thought since he'd taken the time to _do his job_ and respond to their question, he was their new best friend. But Kate sent the email from R in London with a brief note: "Thought you might like to see the fruits of your labor." Perhaps, he thought, he'd been grumbling too much about the stupidity of the general population to her and she thought he needed a reminder of the good he could do when someone actually listened to him instead of remaining mired in their own pathetic drama.

Whatever the reason, she sent it, and he read it, and he found himself imagining R in London lounging on a beach chair, drink in hand, his skin turning bronze in the sun while palm trees swayed and the waves crashed rhythmically on the shore. He could imagine the scene a little _too_ well, and he wondered if his psyche was giving him the hint that it was time for him to take a holiday as well.

Or perhaps, he thought morosely, he was lonely and turning into an idiot himself just because he hadn't had a date in longer than he could remember. The decline in his social life began shortly after he finished school and his plans to begin a writing career were derailed by having to take care of his mother during her final illness and take her place in the column; he'd been too busy to date, and after he finally had a little time to himself, he felt too old for the club scene. It was easier to stay home and focus on his job than to go out and try to find someone - a _male_ someone - when you were too old to care about drugs, twinks, and whatever band was hot for the next five minutes. He'd never been particularly social anyway, and he found it easier and easier to isolate himself - which apparently led to him having inappropriate beach fantasies about someone he'd never met.

Normally, he wouldn't have replied, but it was late, and he was more than half-drunk, which was only making him more maudlin, and he found himself responding before he could think better of it and talk himself out of it.

_Dear R in London,_

_It's gratifying to know someone heeded my advice for once. Taking a holiday may not solve your problems, but hopefully, it will allow you the time to distance yourself from them enough to deal with them more objectively when you return home. Sometimes all we need is a different perspective. and then a solution becomes apparent. At any rate, I assure you that my publisher has sufficient appreciation for me, if my wages are any indication._

_Enjoy the beach, the drinks, and the scenery._

_E. Prince_

No doubt he'd regret it in the morning, but if R in London became a nuisance, Severus would block him and have done with it. For now, however, he hit send and stumbled off to bed, where his dreams were filled with palm trees and mostly naked men bearing drinks.

* * *

Remus woke up early the next morning, showering and dressing before picking up his bag and heading toward the resort's main restaurant for breakfast. They served not only pastries and coffee, but a proper English breakfast too, something he'd not indulged in often since leaving home. It was purely comfort food and terrible for his health, but he told himself he was on holiday and he could afford the indulgence.

After stuffing himself with bangers, fluffy eggs, and beans on toast, Remus took himself off to the pool. He tended to spend the evenings at the beach and the mornings by the pool, where he claimed a cabana and could relax in the shade. He was developing quite a nice tan, but he didn't want to end up looking like a lobster. He pulled out his laptop and checked his email, surprised to see a response from E. Prince flagged in his inbox. He opened it with an eagerness that was a little surprising. He didn't stop to think about why he wanted to reply; he didn't know E. Prince, and although he was grateful for the advice, he probably shouldn't make a nuisance of himself. Yet he replied anyway, which probably said all too much about just how lonely he was.

_Dear Mr. Prince -_

_I am definitely enjoying the beach and all the rest. Thank you for taking the time to email me; I have no desire to be an annoyance to you, but your obvious intelligence is refreshing and unfortunately rare these days. I'm sure you must have many fans writing you, so I shan't be offended if you don't reply to me. Fortunately for me, since my identity isn't known due to a pseudonym, I've not had to fend off fans, for which I am grateful. As an introvert, I would probably go catatonic if I had to face masses of people all wanting to talk to me. I'm simply not the social type, which is why the beach probably suits me better than you would have imagined. Had you suggested I go out partying, I would still be back in my flat, going quietly stir crazy._

_I'm glad that your publisher appreciates you; they should, since you provide a useful outlet for those who, like me, can't bring themselves to discuss their problems face to face. I never would have thought of writing you if it hadn't been for a friend of mine sending me a link to your column. I'll have to thank him at some point, if I can ever bring myself to admit what I did._

_I'm sure I've taken up enough of your time, but I appreciate your response. I feel comfortable enough to tell you that I'm a writer as well, and as such, if it ever falls to me to do anything for you, I will gladly assist you. For the moment, I have popularity, but as my publisher says, "Fame is fleeting." At the moment, I don't think I'll mind that too much._

_Yours,  
Remus  
_

* * *

When another email from R in London showed up in his in-box, Severus was surprised; he didn't think his response had been particularly chatty or inviting, since he wasn't a particularly chatty or inviting person. In the broad - and sober - light of day, he wasn't certain why he'd replied in the first place, especially since in doing so, he'd given R in London direct access to him instead of letting Kate filter for him.

He skimmed the email, and then he read it again more slowly, surprised to find himself nodding in places. Apparently, he and this Remus fellow had more in common than both of them being writers. He leaned back in his chair, his finger poised over the keyboard as he debated whether to hit "reply" or "delete". It was perhaps more evidence that he was more lonely than he cared to admit that he was even considering replying to a complete stranger, or perhaps he was more susceptible to flattery than he realized. Either way, curiosity won out, and he hit "reply".

_Dear Remus,_

_Perhaps it says much about my own solitary nature that it never occurred to me to suggest that you go out partying. I would find it far more relaxing to go on holiday somewhere slow-paced that allows me to sit back and watch without participating. Peaceful, quiet surroundings are more conducive to introspection and inspiration for me, and a quiet, peaceful place that offers the amenity of alcohol brought to me upon request is even better, hence my suggestion of the beach._

_I am pleased that you think my column is useful, although I don't know that I would call myself a writer. I am not the sort of writer I intended to be, at any rate. At best, I am a decent columnist, which is different from being a decent writer, in my estimation._

_Thank you for the offer of assistance, but I have no need of it at present. My job is secure, and I have nothing to submit to an agent, which means I have no need to pester you for the name of yours._

_E. Prince_

* * *

Remus was pleased to receive such a prompt reply, and he wondered if perhaps the Prince was as lonely as he was himself. From the tone of the letter, Remus could believe it; solitary people were also slow to trust, and he knew that the Prince had little reason to trust him, whereas even though Remus didn't know him personally, the Prince was a well established public persona. Remus had spent a bit of time looking at the questions and replies in the column, and the more he read, the more respect he had for his oddly acquired pen pal, and he was delighted that the Prince had opened up to him a bit.

He decided to hold off until after dinner to reply, however; not because he didn't want to respond at once, but he didn't want the Prince to feel threatened or overwhelmed. A little time between responses seemed a reasonable way not to pressure the man, and so after the beach luau that evening that marked the end of his holiday, Remus sat watching the sunset and composing his reply.

_Dear Prince -_

_I nearly corrected that, but alas, I'm afraid that's how I think of you now, since the "E" is difficult to personify. Which is not a request for information, lest you think I am presuming; I just thought you might find it amusing that I have the mental imagine of you sitting at your computer, crown pushed back on your head as you furrow your brow in annoyance at some of the asinine questions you must receive. I can even envision a sceptre in your hand, ready to smite those who are particularly stupid._

_Now that you are convinced I'm a complete nutter, let me say that I, personally, do call you a writer. It is the goal of the writer to inform and/or entertain, is it not? You do both with a degree of wit that is admirable. More over, it seems you are also able to be yourself in what you write and still be successful, which I envy more than you can possibly know. The work I had published, well, let's say that it would be difficult to make it any less the real me than it already is. I deliberately took cliche to a whole new level and fabricated characters so one dimensional that it was hard to keep them from sliding off the pages. My university degree is in literature, and basically I took every rule of good writing I learned and turned it on its head, only to have my efforts greeted by adoring fans. Beyond the irony, it's almost frightening what that says about the state of our educational system. But I don't wish to bore you to tears, so I'll refrain._

_It's fortunate for me that you, too, are solitary by nature, else you'd not have given me such a useful suggestion. The ocean is soothing in a way that few other things are, and it gives one an awareness of how vast the world is beyond one's own narrow borders. It truly does make me realize that while I am not fulfilled by how I achieved my modest degree of success, at least it is success of a sort, ironic though it may be, and I should allow myself to enjoy the fruits of it and use it as a stepping stone to better things. I heard a saying from the theatre crowd back at Uni: the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about. I suppose that really is true, and while I am not yet ready to out myself in that fashion yet, perhaps I can find a way to use this chance to make more opportunities. I was simply so blinded by bitterness before that I couldn't imagine anything positive coming from it, but this respite from my own self-imposed hamster wheel, as you as accurately called it, has allowed me some perspective._

_Since I can't aid you at the moment career-wise, don't be alarmed if you receive, via your employer, a small token from a grateful fan. It's probably silly, but I've been told I have a most bizarre sense of humor._

_Yours,  
Remus  
_

* * *

Severus was so amused by the image of himself with a crown and writing his column while perched on a throne that he was tempted to see if he could find someone to create an illustration of it for use as his logo. He paused before hitting "reply", wondering if he ought to continue the correspondence; he didn't make a habit of emailing people who wrote to him for advice, but somehow, this correspondence seemed to have moved into more personal territory, and he stopped to consider whether that was what he wanted or not.

This Remus fellow was a writer, articulate, and intelligent, and Severus found his letters entertaining. Severus didn't have a large circle of friends; he didn't even have a medium circle of friends. His job kept him busy, and he wasn't inclined to be social anyway, which meant he spent a great deal of his free time alone. For the most part, he didn't mind, but all of his friends had lives of their own, focusing on their job and their family, and their interaction with Severus these days tended to be limited to forwarding him emails of funny cat photos. He found himself latching on to this interaction with pathetic alacrity, and despite his reservations, he typed up a reply.

_Dear Remus,_

_I suppose I am a writer in one sense of the word. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I am not the sort of writer I intended to be or want to be. I am able to write in my own voice and be myself, but I have stories I want to tell and creative needs that are languishing while I bang out another response to some lovelorn idiot who wants advice on how to approach women. As if I would know! At any rate, I understand and can sympathize with your lack of fulfillment because I share it._

_Still, I wouldn't turn my nose up at commercial success if I were you. Once you reach a certain status in the publishing field, you could submit your grocery list, and they would rush to print it. My advice would be to crank out one or two more sequels, rake in loads of cash for your publishing company, and then hit them with the manuscript you really want to publish. By that point, you'll be such a proven commodity that they'll be more willing to take a risk on something different. Meanwhile, you can use the money you make from the trash novels to hire a maid and a cook so you can devote your time to writing and to travel to different beaches around the world any time you feel writer's block coming on._

_The general public's taste is appalling; that's easy enough to see just by looking at what's on the best seller list. But money talks, and the starving artist route isn't mandatory. Do what you must to maneuver yourself into a good position so that you may write what you please and still get published. There isn't anything wrong with being practical if it gets you where you want to be in the end. Perhaps one day, I'll even take my own advice._

_At any rate, I envy you the view. I'm rather fond of the ocean, which is possibly another reason why I suggested it, and after reading your emails, I'm more than half-tempted to take a holiday myself._

_The Prince_

* * *

Remus stared at the email on his computer and bit his lip as he wondered if he was reading into the Prince's words something he wanted to see or if it was possible that the man offering him advice was also gay.

Taking a deep breath, Remus reread the words carefully. _...how to approach women. As if I would know!_ That certainly seemed to imply that the Prince had no interest in women, although that didn't _necessarily_ make him gay. Or it could simply mean that he had no real experience with women, which could imply nothing more than social awkwardness. Yet somehow Remus couldn't picture that, not from the way the Prince wrote. Of course, anything Remus came up with was nothing more than speculation, but it was fascinating speculation, making him want to do something crazy and impulsive like rush down to the Prince's publisher and demand his address.

It was madness, of course; there were privacy issues involved, and the Prince would probably tear him a new one for his presumption, and rightfully so. Remus felt like some sort of stalker for wanting to go find the Prince, and so he forced himself to sit back and think rationally.

Remus wasn't an impulsive man, despite his actions of late. Impulsive actions invariably led to nothing but trouble, as was proven by the stupid novel he'd written in a fit of pique. On the other hand, his decision to write E. Prince for advice had also been a spur of the moment decision, and it had turned out well. It was impossible to say if the Prince would be flattered or horrified for a complete stranger to show up and ask him out to dinner.

The phone rang, and Remus ignored it, rubbing at his forehead as he tried to control his whirling thoughts. He'd gotten home only an hour before, tossing his stuff down carelessly and hurrying to check his email, which he'd not been able to do from the airplane or in the taxi. It was probably rather pathetic how eager he was to see if the Prince had replied to him, and no doubt it was because of his realization about his loneliness. Knowing why he felt the way he did, however, didn't stop him from feeling it, and he told himself it was all right to be attracted to someone he'd never met - someone with whom he'd only corresponded and didn't even know his proper name. The Prince was wickedly amusing and pragmatic and intelligent, and all in all was, without a doubt, one of the most interesting people Remus had ever encountered, even with the limitations of their interactions. He also had to be around Remus' own age, give or take a few years, since it had taken a little Googling for Remus to find out that the Prince had been writing the column for quite some time, even ghost-writing for his mother. 

Of course, the Prince might be seventy years old with false teeth and a bald head, or a precocious twenty-something, short and spotty with bad breath, but somehow Remus didn't think so. When he pictured the Prince in his mind, he saw a tall, regal looking man, with eyes that flashed with wicked humor and a haughty tilt to his chin. It was more difficult to imagine hair and eye color, since they could be anything, so Remus painted him with dark hair, since he had a fondness for brunets. Eye color didn't matter, and neither did skin color; all that really mattered to Remus was that the Prince was fascinating and mysterious and possibly gay, which made him the best prospect Remus had had in a decade.

Too damned bad he couldn't do anything about it.

The phone rang again, and with a sigh, Remus rose and went to answer it. It proved to be Norma, his publisher, demanding to know if he was going to write a sequel because a studio wanted to buy the Film Rights. Remus could hear the capitals in her words just as certainly as he could see the dollar signs in her eyes, and finally he relented.

"All right, I'll do a sequel," he replied, once again taking the Prince's advice. He'd run with this while he could, and then he'd start making demands. The Prince was right: if he made the publisher a lot of money, they'd be more inclined to publish the book he _really_ wanted to have associated with his name. Ravenna J. Lypemanian could continue to crank out the drivel which seemed to feed the bizarre tastes of the masses, but Remus' real name would be saved for better things.

Norma began to gush, promising Remus the moon and stars, but he was barely listening to her, far more interested in trying to determine how he could arrange to meet the Prince. Perhaps a publishing function, if the Prince attended such things, which was unlikely. 

Cutting across Norma, Remus chuckled lightly. "All right, all right, send the contracts to my agent, and I'll get them signed and returned, assuming everything looks good," he said. "And Norma? Look, if you happen to hear of anything having to do with 'Princely Proclamations', would you let me know? I've recently begun reading the column, and I'd love to know if the author makes any public appearances."

"Of course, of course!" Norma was all too ready to fall in with anything Remus requested, and he took shameless advantage of the fact. In short order, she had referred him to her own personal assistant, who would arrange appointments for Remus to view new flats in more pleasant surroundings and help him with selecting furniture and even a maid service. With Norma's voice still echoing in his ears, Remus rang off and returned to his computer to write a reply to the Prince.

_Dear Prince -_

_I am sorry that your writing doesn't fulfill you any more than mine does me; it's an awful feeling. But I agree with your once again sound advice. I'm going to use this opportunity to set myself up for better things; when all is said and done, I suppose that adding a few more vapid novels to the vast collection already in existence is a small price to pay for achieving the connections and influence needed to barter the wares of which I am far more proud. At which point I claim the right to poke you to listen to your own excellent advice. I would find it most unjust if I took your advice and found happiness while you did not!_

__Remus paused, then drew in a deep breath, wondering if he dared write what he wished to write. He would type it in, just to see if it horrified him in black and white; he could always delete it if he wished.

_I promise not to ask your advice on how to approach women, so that you won't have yet another idiot adding to your stress. Of course, that's an easy promise for me to make, since I'm not inclined in that direction anyway._

_And now I that I've agreed to write a sequel to my original drivel, I should start jotting down ideas. I'm back in England, so play time is over. Time to take the rest of your advice and start moving on!_

_Yours,  
Remus  
_

After reading it again, Remus bit his lip and forced himself to hit _send_. He thought his implication of being gay was subtle enough that the Prince might not even pick up on it, but it was definitely there. Now it was just a matter of waiting to see if his subtle words were caught, and, if so, if the Prince was willing to do anything about them.

* * *

Severus read the email twice just to make certain he'd read what he thought he'd read. Namely, that Remus had admitted to being gay. Severus had made an oblique admission himself, one that offered plausible deniability if he needed it, but apparently Remus had understood and replied in kind.

So Remus was gay and seemingly single as well. Severus leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin as he considered what he wanted to do with this information. He had to admit, Remus intrigued him, and he hadn't been intrigued by anyone for quite some time. He had no idea what to do about it, however. It was easy to be charming and personable in writing, but Remus might be a boring idiot in person, or Severus' interest might wane if they met in reality. Worse, _Remus_ might not be interested. Severus knew he wasn't a prime catch in the looks department. He had money and fame, but he wasn't attractive, and he didn't make up for his lack of good looks with a sparkling, winning personality.

No, he had to proceed with caution. Perhaps he ought to find out if Remus was having a book-signing or giving an interview somewhere and "coincidentally" happen to be there. That way, he could introduce himself and see how things went without jeopardizing their written communication. Severus had been careful to keep his real name and image separate from "E. Prince", so he could maintain his anonymity while gathering the information he needed.

_Dear Remus,_

_Congratulations on choosing a clear path. You may not enjoy writing the mindless drivel, but I believe it will be beneficial in the long run. I give you permission to grumble and complain to me while you write, since I encouraged you to do it in the first place. Better to vent your frustrations to a sympathetic ear than let something slip to a nosy reporter._

_Speaking of which, are you doing any press for your book? I confess being curious about which piece of mindless drivel currently lining the shelves in the bookshops is yours, and if you are holding any book signings in London, I might have to show up and get an autographed copy._

_The Prince_

* * *

"YES!" Remus let out a whoop and pumped his fist in the air, thrilled beyond measure that the Prince was issuing an open invitation to continue their correspondence. Remus had been careful not to presume that the Prince would care to go on, taking each email one at a time, but this was exactly what he wanted: a declaration that the Prince wished to continue writing to him for the long term. And not only that, there was also the subtle implication that the Prince would like to meet him, and in the same way that Remus had been considering: sneakily, to check him out without having to reveal himself. Remus snorted with amusement; they really did have a lot in common, and apparently both of them were cautious almost to a fault.

He knew there was a stupid grin on his face, but he couldn't help it. He'd been a little let down when he'd found out from his publisher that "E. Prince" never made public appearances, and there wasn't even a photo of The Prince to be had anywhere, but now his hopes were rising again. It just meant he'd just have to be the one to let down his guard enough to see if the Prince was interested enough to consider engaging in a more personal relationship.

The question was, did he want to risk losing what they had now? Should he rush or take his time before revealing himself? What if the Prince didn't find him attractive?

Remus frowned and ran a hand through his long hair. It had been a while since he'd had a haircut, not because of a lack of money or care but because his appearance wasn't something he'd been overly concerned about. He knew that he was greying prematurely; the hair at his temples was almost completely silver, and there was a liberal sprinkling of matching strands throughout the rest of the sandy brown. His face was pleasant but nothing special, although he'd been told by one lover back at university that his wide, blue-green eyes were his best feature. They were even brighter now that he'd acquired a healthy bronze tone on his normally pale skin. He was still slender, due to often forgetting to eat while he was writing, but he knew he could use some toning up.

All in all, he wasn't going to cause jaws to drop, but he wouldn't send anyone running away screaming either. If he updated his wardrobe a little bit, he'd be presentable, perhaps enough to make a certain Prince want to give him a chance.

Still, it was a risk, since the Prince might not like slender, bookish writers. But there was no gain without risk; he knew that well as an author, and he thought the potential payoff might be worth it. But that didn't mean he had to make it easy on the Prince by doing something like sending him a picture. No, his Prince could come to him, if he wanted to satisfy any curiosity he might have. If he _was_ curious and not merely being encouraging about Remus' writing career. Besides, he ought to receive the gift Remus had sent from France any day now, and the small crystal frog prince with his wee golden crown might convince the Prince that Remus was either mad or complete idiot.

For several minutes, Remus considered his options, and then with a mutter of "no guts, no glory," he threw caution to the wind and penned his reply.

_Dear Prince -_

_Thanks for the invitation to vent; you might end up regretting it when I take you up on your offer! You'll understand why when I make two admissions, the first being that I can't have book signings, since my pseudonym is female. So not only is my drivel something I don't much wish to claim, I can't even do so with my actual face because I would look ridiculous in drag._

_The second admission is that my book isn't simply a novel, it's a genre work. Think of the most overdone, hackneyed, horribly trite area of popular fiction these days, and that's where you will find it. Not only that, if your vocabulary is as extensive as I believe it to be, the pen name I used will leap out at you and probably cause eyerolling of a degree that will risk them falling out. Those are the only clues I'll give you as to which drivel is my own special work._

_That being said, I will say that I frequent a coffee shop in Soho several evenings a week, laptop in tow. I'm not a social man, but I also don't wish to be a hermit, and sitting in a coffee shop gives me some measure of socialization so that my voice doesn't stop functioning from disuse. There are book readings there on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, and usually a rather lively discussion afterward, in which I sometimes participate. The shop is called the Cuppola Cafe, and I favor cinnamon chai. If you happen by some evening, you might see me in a corner, hopefully working on the new book but probably just scowling at the screen in frustration. If you don't, well, I enjoy our written communication a great deal, and I'd like to continue it no matter what._

_Yours,  
Remus  
_

* * *

As soon as Severus received Remus' email, he jotted down the hints Remus had given him and went to the bookshop near his flat, where he spent over an hour combing the shelves. The problem was, he didn't know which genre Remus had written in, and there were plenty of pen names that were eyeroll-inducing. He was able to rule out books that had been out for over a year or that had sequels, but there was still a great deal of tripe on the shelves. In the end, he narrowed it down to a handful of candidates and wrote down the titles to see if he could ferret out more information with a little Googling.

That was the easy part. The difficult part was trying to decide whether to visit the coffee shop Remus had mentioned. On the one hand, he was curious, and he wanted to see if he could spot Remus. On the other, it was a risk, since they were getting on quite well in writing, and he was reluctant to spoil what they had. Remus had even given Severus an out by saying he enjoyed their correspondence enough to continue, even if they didn't meet face-to-face. Continuing via email would be the safe thing to do, but Severus was tired of being safe. Perhaps he had subconsciously assimilated some of the advice he'd dispensed to Remus or perhaps he was simply tired of being alone. Whatever the reason, he decided a little risk was worth the effort.

He tried not to be skulky and furtive as he entered the coffee shop for the first time, his laptop tucked under his arm. He ordered a cup of green tea and snagged a small table, taking time to set up his laptop before casually checking out the rest of the patrons. There were several men with laptops, but none of them looked like they were writing. He could see one of them was working on a spreadsheet, one was playing solitaire, and while he couldn't peek at the others, one of the remaining candidates appeared to be barely out of his teens, and the other was wearing a business suit.

Disappointed, he opened his email program and hit "reply".

_Dear Remus,_

_First, I should thank you for the gift. It's more appropriate than you could possibly realize, and I have it on my desk, where it will stay to provide me amusement when I'm in need of a break from reading inane questions from my readers._

_Second, I trawled through a bookshop and tried to figure out which trashy genre novel was yours. I'm still not entirely certain, but a certain werewolf novel is at the top of the list, since it was written by someone named "Lypemanian", which Google tells me is a reference to pathological mournfulness. That is far too coincidental not to be a pen name, and I can easily see you using that term as a joke, considering the subject matter of the novel in question._

_Third, I don't see anyone at the Cuppola Cafe who might be you, but perhaps I will try again another night._

_Yours,  
The (Frog) Prince_

* * *

When Remus' email client beeped, he immediately opened it and read the Prince's email, chuckling aloud that the Prince had managed to figure it out. Then his eyes widened, and he almost choked on his chai when he read that the Prince was actually there, in the cafe. He risked a quick look around, but really, he would prefer to be found, rather than seeking out the Prince. 

With hands that trembled slightly, he shot back a quick reply.

_Dear Frog Prince,_

_I'm here. Perhaps you overlooked the back area of the cafe?_

_Yours,  
Remus  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Severus' breath caught when he read the reply, gnawing his bottom lip as he felt a hot flash and then went cold with apprehension at the thought that Remus was here, that they could meet, that he might be on the brink of something more than the safe distance of email. He shut down his laptop and closed it, fortifying himself with a deep swallow of tea before pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. He looked around with slow deliberation, realizing he _had_ overlooked the back of the cafe, an area tucked around a corner, its walls lined with bookshelves. There were a few tables and some second-hand squashy chairs back there, and Severus rounded the corner with trepidation, his stomach roiling as he looked to see if he could spot Remus.

There were three men; one was with a young woman, which left him out, and of the other two, Severus was certain he knew which one was Remus. It was the long-haired, blue-eyed man with the mild expression and the suntanned skin. It _had_ to be, because Severus felt a jolt of... something. Connection? Recognition? He didn't know what it was; he only knew that if Remus wasn't that man, he would be disappointed.

Breathing in deeply, he braced himself and took the plunge, approaching the man's table with a confidence he didn't quite feel. "Remus, I presume?"

Remus felt his face flush, and he pushed his glasses up his nose before looking up from his computer. And up and up, as he realized that the Prince was quite tall. And slender and dark-haired. Something like an electric shock went through him, and he rose to his feet, feeling in a daze as he smiled and held out his hand. "And you must be my prince," he replied, and then he blushed more, realizing what he'd said. "Er... It's good to meet you."

Well, that was promising, Severus thought with a smirk as he clasped Remus' hand and shook it firmly. "My name is Severus," he said. "It's good to meet you too." He glanced at the chair opposite Remus' and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Mind if I sit down? I could return to my table, and we could continue to send email, but since I'm here..."

"Please, do, since you came all the way over here to find me," Remus replied. The Prince... _Severus_... had a strong grip, which Remus found attractive, especially because Severus had the kind of hands Remus loved: elegant and long-fingered. Everything about Severus was elegant, and Remus found himself more attracted than he would have thought possible. He sat back down as well and tilted his head to one side. "So I presume the starting 'E' in Severus is silent?"

Severus chuckled as he took a seat and placed his laptop and cup of tea on the table. "No, the E is an homage to my mother. She was 'Dear Eileen', and her maiden name was Prince. My last name is Snape, by the way. I began my career as Dear Eileen until finally I was allowed to write in my own voice, but I wanted to retain a connection to her column when I began 'Princely Proclamations'."

"That makes sense; you must have been close," Remus replied, smiling with approval. "My last name is Lupin. And I must say I'm impressed that you so quickly picked out my work. My initials are R. J. L., and hence the Ravenna J. Lypemanian. I do hope you didn't subject yourself to that awful book, by the way. You must not have, or I would imagine you'd not be here now talking to me!"

"No, the lurid cover art was enough to send me packing," Severus drawled sardonically, not bothering to hide the fact that he was studying Remus closely, taking in the details. Up close, Remus was even more appealing; he wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but if he had been, Severus would never have approached him. Gorgeous men were out of Severus' league, but Remus was attractive in a wholesome, writerly-rumpled sort of way that appealed to him. He had a sudden, inexplicable image of Remus curled up on one end of his sofa, laptop open and glasses sliding down his nose; it was a homey image, and surprisingly enough, it wasn't enough to make Severus run away screaming from the mere thought of someone in his space. "At any rate, yes, my mother and I were close. My father was... out of the picture, so it was just the two of us for most of my life."

Remus chuckled at Severus' comment about the art, which really was as horrendous as Remus' writing, only he knew the artist hadn't been _trying_ to be bad; it had happened all on its own. Severus' eyes were dark and intense and made Remus want to shiver, but in a good way. If Severus was mentally undressing him, he found himself all for that idea, his attraction to Severus set to tip over toward arousal at the slightest excuse. He felt that they had connected as easily in person as they had in writing, and it made him eager to find out just how well they clicked in other areas too.

But there was no need to rush, he told himself firmly, and he nodded in understanding as Severus described his family life. "My father died several years ago, and it made my mother and me closer, too. Was she glad you took over her column, then?"

"It was her idea," Severus replied, sipping his tea. "She wanted me to have a steady income, and she wanted her column to continue because she felt it did a lot of good. She was far more of a natural philanthropist than I have ever been. Far more patient and compassionate, too. I doubt I could have maintained 'Dear Eileen' indefinitely. Having my own column freed me from trying to adhere to her standards and let me be more like myself."

"There are those who can be helped by patience and compassion, and others, like me, who need to be told things straight up," Remus replied. He leaned his chin on his hand, watching Severus as frankly as Severus had watched him, liking the angles of Severus' face, including the jut of his nose and the hint of a frown line between his eyes. Severus wasn't classically handsome, but he had a fascinating face, one with character, and Remus thought he could stare at Severus' face forever and never get tired of it. "There is value in empathy, but also one in practicality. You helped me so much, and for that, I feel as though I can never repay you." He laughed softly. "Even with all the frog princes in France."

"Take advantage of your opportunities and use them to get your real work published," Severus said, reaching across the table to touch Remus' arm lightly. "That will be repayment enough."

The touch was a surprise, but Remus was glad of it, and he rested his free hand on top of Severus'. "I promise," he replied softly, and then he decided to take a bit of a risk. "You've made a difference in my life. Perhaps it's just my inclination to ridiculous fancies, but I rather feel as though I really was woken up by a prince."

Severus glanced away, abashed, unaccustomed to having such comments aimed at him, but he didn't draw his hand back, relishing the warmth of Remus' hand on his. "I'm glad I could help," he said, his voice quiet and deep. "Knowing I've had one success story makes wading through all the drek I'm sent worthwhile."

The faint blush on Severus' cheeks was all the more charming for its unexpectedness, and the tone of his voice sent a pleasurable chill down Remus' spine. "I'm sure you've had more successes than just one," he replied, daring to brush his thumb over the back of Severus' hand. "But I'm selfish enough to be glad that I could add something to your life, as you've added to mine. I went to the beach on your advice, and it helped me to realize several things about my life, more than just the problems I was having about my work. It made me realize I was lonely, too."

Severus stared at Remus with widened eyes, his skin tingling where Remus caressed it, and his breath caught in his throat when Remus confessed to things that echoed realizations Severus had had lately himself. He'd never imagined he could be so fortunate as to meet a man he found interesting and attractive and who was single and gay to boot. What were the odds that such a man would be interested in him too? He licked his lips, wondering how to respond. He'd already taken one risk that evening, and he wasn't accustomed to putting himself out on a limb once, much less twice. Yet something about this man intrigued and compelled him, and he found himself not retreating into safe neutrality as he might have done with anyone else.

"Are you?" he asked softly, meeting Remus' gaze. "That's a shame. What do you intend to do to change it?"

Remus watched Severus' reaction to his words, the flick of Severus' tongue igniting a pool of heat in his stomach. This was more than he could have hoped for, more than he would have dared to dream, and he felt himself growing breathless and a wee bit giddy. If Severus had shown the slightest bit of hesitation or rejection, Remus would have slowed down, but he was feeling more daring than he could remember feeling in many years. And there was even a way to couch what he wanted to say in terms that would allow Severus a graceful out if he wanted to slow things down.

"What I intend to do is to employ the same route that helped me to make the realization in the first place." Remus' voice was husky, and he caressed Severus' hand again, slowly and deliberately. "My Dearest Prince," he said, holding Severus' eyes. "I know I promised I wouldn't ask your advice on how to approach women, but I believe it's not breaking that promise to ask you how to approach men. Or rather, one particular man. After many years of not even realizing how empty my life had become, I've met someone who fascinates and attracts me, and I long to get to know him better. It might seem sudden, as I've only just met him in person this very night, but we've been corresponding for a short while and I feel as though we connect on many different levels. So what do you suggest? Should I take it slow, invite him out on a date as is proper, or do I give in to my sudden and quite uncharacteristic impulse to take him home with me? Your advice has aided me greatly in the past, and I promise to adhere to whatever you deem correct in this case, since I know you won't steer me wrong in these matters, and I trust your instincts implicitly. I eagerly await your reply. Yours most faithfully, Remus." He stopped there, holding his breath, wondering what Severus' reply would be.

Severus felt a zing of arousal, not only from the way Remus was stroking his hand, but from Remus' words as well. Remus wanted him. That knowledge was enough to make him feel daring enough to do just about anything, and his voice was strong and sure when he spoke at last.

"My dear Remus," he said slowly as he turned over his hand and curled his fingers around Remus', "It isn't breaking your promise to ask me about how to approach men, since I do know a little something about that, and I am, in fact, an expert on the particular man you have in mind. I believe it's safe to say he finds you equally intriguing and considers you far less of a blithering idiot than most people of his acquaintance. I have it on good authority that he isn't old-fashioned or skittish; therefore, if you wish to act on your impulse to take him home, I doubt you will be rejected. I expect a full account of your venture - but not until morning. Yours, the frog prince." Severus arched one eyebrow with playful hauteur before adding, "PS: I happen to like this fellow, so if you hurt him, I'll have your guts for garters. Don't cock it up."

Knowing that he must look ridiculous from the way he was smiling so widely, Remus tightened his fingers, feeling breathless and eager. Severus was everything he could possibly want - witty and attractive and amusing and intelligent - and it was almost too good to be true that he wanted Remus in return. Remus felt as though he were throwing a lifetime of caution to the wind, but he didn't care. He wanted this - he wanted _Severus_ \- and he felt certain this was right in ways he'd never experienced before. 

"My dearest Prince," he said, before lifting their joined hands so that he could press his lips to the back of Severus', his eyes darkening with arousal. "As always, your advice is sound, and I promise to give you an account tomorrow - as well as treat him with the respect and consideration he deserves. I'd not like to risk your wrath for cocking it up, so I'll be careful. Until tomorrow, Remus." 

Rising to his feet, Remus stood beside the table, looking down at Severus. "So, my Prince, have I received sound advice from my most trusted confidante? Will you come back to my flat for the night? For conversation, for a meal... for anything you'd like. Not because I simply want someone to take away my loneliness, but because I want _you_."

Severus stood as well and laced his fingers with Remus', a tiny smirk curving his thin lips. "I don't think your confidante has led you astray," he said with studied casualness. "Yes, I'll go with you. We can start with conversation and see if 'anything' develops from there."

"Sounds perfect," Remus replied, feeling happier than he had in a long time, and a sense of anticipation he'd nearly forgotten he _could_ feel. He gave Severus' hand a squeeze before releasing it. "Let's pack up, then. My flat isn't far, which I suppose says much about how low your expectations should be." He picked up his laptop and slipped it into its case, and then he slung it over his shoulder. He held out his hand to Severus again, not just because he enjoyed the contact, but because it felt _right_. "Shall we?"

Severus picked up his laptop and slid it into his bag as well, and then he clasped Remus' outstretched hand willingly. "Yes, let's go. I'd rather not continue our - ah - getting acquainted in the company of others."

"I quite agree," Remus replied. He lead Severus out of the shop, ignoring the speculative looks of the other regulars, all of whom would know that Remus had never left with anyone before. He didn't care what they thought, and he found he was quite proud to be seen with someone like Severus. Fortunately, the sight of two men holding hands was nothing out of the ordinary in Soho, and they wouldn't attract any embarrassing or unwanted attention.

They walked past several brightly colored shops, which were the typical mixture of music stores, pubs, an even a sex shop with a dazzling display of ludicrously sized and shaped toys in the window. Remus chuckled as they passed by it. "My flat is one more block over. The neighborhood has changed in the last ten years and for the better, but you know I've never noticed that shop before? I suppose I've spent too much time focusing inward."

Severus' eyebrows climbed as he peered in the shop window as they passed by, his interest captured by the lurid display. "I can think of several ways those items could be used to make certain your attention was entirely focused outward rather than inward," he replied archly. "It's high time you emerged from your cocoon anyway and started to live a little."

Remus' toes curled in his shoes, and his face flushed at the images Severus' words conjured up. "I'll be happy to do anything you'd like," he replied, squeezing Severus' hand. "But I am quite certain that when I'm with you, my attention will be focused on you and you alone." 

That brought an unconscious smile to Severus' lips, and he squeezed Remus' hand in return. "I doubt I'll have any complaints about that," he said. The desire to push Remus against the nearest wall and snog him breathless was growing stronger, and he forced himself to change the subject before he did something that could get them arrested for public indecency. "So - how is the sequel coming along? Have you started it yet?"

The sight of the smile on Severus' lips gave Remus a great deal of satisfaction, and he didn't mind the change of subject until they reached his flat, because he was in serious danger of not being able to make it home without exploding. "I've been jotting down ideas, but I've not started it in earnest," he replied, quickening his steps as they crossed the street and made it to his block. "I'm torn between being completely irreverent again or trying to be a bit less blatant in my flaunting of the literary niceties. It's surprisingly hard to ignore everything I've been taught."

"It might be easier for you to stomach if you take it a little more seriously," Severus pointed out. "Although that doesn't mean you have to start believing in what you're writing. Perhaps if you treat it as a way to amuse yourself rather than as a means of venting bitter spleen, you might enjoy it a little more. Obviously you must know _something_ about the genre, after all, if you're capable of mocking it."

"You're right, I do," Remus replied with a chuckle. "I started out with the serious literature on the subject - Poe and the like - and moved into the more modern horror writers. But always books that had plot and real merit, not the drivel cranked out these days. As it was, I couldn't even bring myself to do the most overdone genre of all, which is why I stuck with werewolves instead of vampires." He looked up at Severus, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Although I must say, it is an easy enough thing to change the fantasy of you as a Prince to you being the Prince of Darkness. Perhaps I'll have to re-evaluate my opinion of vampires as romantic images."

Severus snorted and rolled his eyes. "I see I'll have to be careful if I don't want to be immortalized in the pages of a trashy novel," he replied tartly. "I should give you fair warning: it isn't blood I want to suck."

"I'll refrain from asking what you _do_ like to suck until we're inside," Remus said breathlessly. Severus was trying to kill him, it was obvious, and he hurried them the last few steps to his building. He unlocked the outer door with unsteady hands, anticipation and imagination threatening to drive him crazy. Fortunately, his flat was up only one flight and at the head of the stairs, so they didn't have long before they were inside, and Remus was pushing the door shut and locking it behind them.

His flat was filled with books - on shelves, on tables, even piled tidily on the floor. He glanced around, feeling a wee bit embarrassed by how obvious it was that he rarely had anyone over. Not that the flat was dirty at all - he couldn't have stood to live in a hovel - but there was nothing to speak of in the way of decoration. He did have a sofa, and he looked at Severus, clearing his throat with sudden nervousness. "Would you like to sit down and have a drink?" he asked. "The sofa looks a wreck, but it's comfortable. I have some wine."

"Wine would be nice," Severus replied as he looked around. Stopping by the window, he glanced out at the view and then turned back to Remus, one eyebrow raised. "Are you into the spartan look, or is this more evidence of your inward turn of mind?"

Remus shrugged, flushing a bit. "Both, I suppose, plus the whole starving artist thing. Not that I'm starving of course, but given a choice between a big meal or a book and beans on toast, well... I think my preference is obvious." He moved into the tiny kitchen off the main area, pulling a bottle of white wine from the small fridge and retrieving two wineglasses, ones given him by his mother and rarely used more than one at a time. He filled the glasses and returned to Severus, handing him one. 

"A toast, perhaps?" he asked, beginning to relax since Severus hadn't turned up his nose in disgust and gone running from the flat. "To... possibilities?"

"To possibilities," Severus replied, touching his glass to Remus'. "And to the addition of a few throw pillows," he added with arch playfulness.

Laughing, Remus tapped Severus lightly on the arm and took a drink of his wine. "So, does my Prince also give interior decorating advice, then?" he asked. "I suppose I could allocate a few pounds for a budget, given that my publisher sent me contracts for the film rights to _Eternal Moonlight_. I might even be convinced to move out of Soho for somewhere with less personality."

"Film rights?" Severus glanced at him with surprise. "If your book does get made into a film and it does well, you'll be able to ask your publishing company for anything, and they'll offer it on a silver platter. I don't think you'll need to worry about being able to write what you truly want to write, even if it does mean cranking out the occasional bit of trash to keep them happy." He sipped his wine and looked around the room speculatively. "At any rate, it wouldn't take much to make this place cozy. There isn't anything wrong with living in SoHo, and the flat has potential. I'm willing to make a few suggestions, if you're interested."

"I would appreciate that," Remus replied, meaning it. He'd taken the place simply because it was inexpensive and in an area he liked, but he could see that it did have potential. He didn't use the fireplace which took up half of the narrow wall of the main room, but he could suddenly see it with a thick rug in front of it, perfect for romantic evenings with a dark-haired, sinful-voiced lover. It was far too early to make such a declaration to Severus, however, although he thought having a place that Severus had helped him decorate spoke of an intimacy that made him ache with longing. He sipped his wine again, and forced himself to think of here and now. "I don't know if I could stand to watch a film of the horror I wrote, but if it opens doors for my real work, I'd be very happy."

"I'm sure it would open plenty of doors," Severus replied, still looking around with an eye to possible changes. He was already thinking about paint and the types of interesting pieces that could be used in the room, which was ridiculous. He ought not think about decorating the flat of a man he'd only just met, but the inexplicable sense of connection was working on him, making him think about things he'd never considered before in his life. He turned to Remus, one eyebrow raised. "Although to be honest, I'm only interested in one particular door at the moment."

"And what door is that?" Remus asked, hoping against hope it was the same door he himself was interested in. He was torn between wanting to rush things and wanting to draw them out, so he was more than happy to fall in with whatever Severus wished. 

Severus drained his glass to give himself a little shot of Dutch courage, and then he put the glass aside and reached for Remus' hands, squeezing them gently. "The bedroom door, of course," he replied. "I don't want to rush you, but I don't want to leave room for any doubt, either. I do desire you."

"You aren't rushing me. I was afraid of rushing you," Remus said, smiling wryly. "I want you, too, Severus. More than I've wanted anyone or anything in a very long time." He began to move, backing toward the bedroom door, glad that in there, at least, he'd taken some time to see to comforts. He had a large bed with a thick mattress, one of his few indulgences beyond books. "I find what I've seen of you so far to be very attractive, indeed, and I'm eager to see the rest."

Severus let himself be led to the bedroom, relieved that his overture hadn't been greeted with hesitation or worse, rejection. "I'll let you unwrap me as long as you promise you'll still respect me in the morning," he said, casting a faux-coy look at Remus.

Remus nodded, his expression serious for a moment. "I promise I will," he said as he stepped into his bedroom and led Severus toward the bed. He stepped closer to Severus, letting their body heat overlap, both aroused and a little anxious about what they were going to do. "I value you, Severus, and I want you to know I'll never treat you lightly. Perhaps it seems silly, as we've only just met, but as much as I want you - which is a great deal indeed - it's not just physical. When I say I want you, I mean that I want all of you."

Severus gazed down at Remus in silence, a strange blend of surprise and humility filling him at Remus' words. He couldn't remember any of his previous liaisons saying anything like that to him before, but then again, he'd never let anyone get so close before. It was more than a little overwhelming to think how easily he had let down his guard with someone he barely knew, but he felt inexplicably safe in doing so. This was right, and for once in his life, he wasn't going to pull back or run away from a good thing.

"I don't have much practice with this whole relationship thing," he admitted, resting his palm against Remus' cheek. "But for you, I'm willing to try it."

Severus' words made Remus' eyes widen with surprise and happiness, and he turned his head to press his lips against Severus' palm. "Practice makes perfect, they say," he replied, and then he stepped forward and pressed against Severus, wrapping his arms around Severus' waist. He looked up into Severus' eyes, his smile becoming seductive. "Shall we seal that with a kiss?"

"By all means." Severus bent his head and brushed his lips against Remus' to taste that smile, and then he returned for more, deepening the kiss and coaxing Remus' lips apart as he slid his arms around Remus in return.

Severus' lips were warm, and the first brush of them sent a tingle down Remus' spine, all the way to his toes. He tightened his arms around Severus' waist, parting his lips and welcoming Severus' exploration, moaning softly as his eyes slid closed. Severus tasted wonderful - dark and spicy - and a single taste had Remus addicted. He felt his body tightening, but he withheld nothing, kissing Severus back with eager hunger.

Severus explored at his leisure, savoring the feel of Remus' body in his arms, warm and solid; he hadn't been touched or held like this in such a long time, and he found his own body was coming alive, starved for touch and demanding more. Sliding his hands down the length of Remus' back, he groped Remus' arse before slipping his hands beneath the hem of Remus' jumper, a soft moan escaping him as he caressed Remus' bare skin.

Remus felt as though he could barely breathe, but he didn't care. The feel of Severus' elegant hands on his skin made him weak in the knees, and he clung to Severus for support. It had been a long time since he'd been touched by anyone, but he didn't want just anyone; he wanted Severus, and the knowledge that it was Severus touching him was almost as potent as the touch itself. Remus arched against Severus' hands and let his own travel lower on Severus' body, pulling Severus' hips against his so Severus could feel just how much his touching was affecting Remus. 

Pulling back from the kiss and drawing in a deep lungful of air, Remus moved his lips to Severus' jaw and placed nipping kisses over the hint of stubble at Severus' jawline before nuzzling the skin beneath Severus' ear. He pressed his lips against the pulse beating in Severus' neck, flicking out his tongue to taste Severus' delicious, spicy skin.

Tilting his head, Severus silently offered access and encouragement, a shiver rippling down his spine at the feel of Remus' lips and tongue caressing his skin, and he tightened his arms around Remus, growing arousal causing his knees to weaken.

Remus felt the shiver with a sense of satisfaction, pleased to know that he could affect Severus just as Severus affected him. Wanting to give Severus pleasure, to make him burn as Remus burned himself, he nipped at the skin of Severus' throat as he pushed his hands under Severus' jumper as Severus had done to him, stroking his palms up Severus' back before using his nails on the way back down, raking lightly, not to hurt but to stimulate.

That coaxed a noise that sounded rather like a purr out of Severus, who arched against Remus' hands shamelessly. "I like that," he murmured, mimicking the action on Remus' bare back to see if he responded positively as well. "A little teeth, a little nails - it won't turn me off, believe me."

"A man after my own heart," Remus replied throatily, shivering with need as he felt the pleasure-pain of Severus' nails on his back. With a sudden, wicked grin, he grasped the hem of Severus' jumper and tugged it up. "Let's get this off, and I'll give you teeth and nails in other, more interesting places."

Severus wasted no time in yanking his jumper up and off, and he tossed it aside carelessly before tugging the hem of Remus' jumper in return. "Your turn," he said, raising a challenging eyebrow.

It was a challenge Remus was eager to meet, and he mirrored Severus' movement, letting his jumper fall to the floor. He licked his lips as his eyes roamed the planes of Severus' chest, his skin a delectable expanse that Remus longed to explore with his lips and tongue. "You look positively edible," he murmured, running his palms over Severus' skin, before bending his head and capturing one of Severus' nipples between his lips.

Hissing with pleasure, Severus clutched Remus' shoulders, jolts of pure need shooting through him, and he felt his knees weaken even more. "If you're going to treat me like your own personal buffet, we need to be horizontal," he said, his voice sounding breathless even to his own ears. "Otherwise, I can't promise I'll remain upright much longer."

"I suppose that would be wise," Remus replied with a chuckle. He straightened, and then he reached back to pull down the duvet before moving his hands to the fastenings of Severus' jeans. "In the interest of ease, shall we take these off, too?"

"We might as well, especially if you want to sample all the dishes at the table," Severus replied with a little smirk. Obviously, Remus liked what he saw so far, which bolstered Severus' confidence, and he cocked his hip, putting himself on provocative display as Remus undressed him.

"I definitely do wish to sample... and savor, and devour." Remus licked his lips as he slid down the zipper of Severus' jeans. Then he knelt, helping Severus out of his shoes and socks before rising again, slipping his thumbs beneath the waistband and pulling them down Severus' hips. Underneath, Severus wore black boxers, and Remus couldn't resist brushing his fingers lightly over the bulge of Severus' arousal teasingly. "I like touching too. Tell me, Severus, how do you like to be touched? Gently? Or can I be a little rough?"

Severus' breath caught at the brush of Remus' fingers, and he shivered in response and clutched Remus' shoulders tighter. "You can be rough if you like," he said huskily. "I'm neither delicate nor sensitive, and I enjoy a little rough-and-tumble." He paused and looked Remus up and down speculatively. "But I must say, you are entirely over-dressed."

With that, he smoothed his palms down Remus' torso, molding his hands to the planes and angles of Remus' chest to familiarize himself with the feel of Remus' body, and then he unfastened the fly of Remus' trousers, teasing Remus with little strokes of his fingers beneath the waistband.

Remus chuckled, his breath hitching as Severus' fingers skimmed lightly, close enough to sensitive places to arouse wildly but not nearly enough to satisfy. "I agree," he said, stepping out of his shoes. Then he arched a brow. "Rough and tumble, eh?" he drawled, before grasping Severus by the shoulders, turning them and pushing Severus down toward the mattress.

Severus went willingly, falling back on the mattress and then scooting toward the center of the large bed and settling against the pillows. He bent one knee and let his hands come to rest over his head, at once giving Remus an unhindered view and putting himself in a vulnerable position as a show of trust.

"It's lonely up here all by myself," he said plaintively, giving Remus a pointed look.

"I just had to take a moment to admire," Remus replied, his eyes dark with arousal. "You look fantastic in my bed. I'm half afraid I'll wake up and find this has only been a dream."

"I'd pinch you, but you're too far away," Severus replied. "The only thing for it is for you to shed the rest of those clothes and join me. I'll do my best to prove this is no dream."

Laughing, Remus did as Severus said, peeling away the rest of his clothing, making it a little show. He wanted to project complete confidence, but he knew his skin was flushed, since he'd not been bare in front of anyone in years. But Severus wanted him, and he wanted this, what he hoped was the first of many times together, to be special. 

Then he moved onto the bed, prowling toward Severus and licking his lips. "You are gorgeous," he murmured. Since Severus was sprawled so wantonly, Remus took the initiative, placing one knee on either side of Severus' thighs and lowering himself so that he hovered over Severus, looking down at him with wonder. "I want you so much, Severus. I want to be with you, to hear you cry out my name because I've given you more pleasure than anyone ever has before."

Winding his arms around Remus, Severus caressed his shoulders and back, savoring the temptation Remus presented; he found the flush endearing, and it reassured him that Remus wasn't some cocky Lothario, intent on conquest. He had never found it easy to relax with someone, especially not so quickly, but Remus put him at ease, enough that his usual self-consciousness seemed to have disappeared.

"I want you too," he murmured, urging Remus down. "More than I've ever wanted anyone before."

Remus went willingly, lowering himself down to press Severus into the mattress, moaning softly as warm skin met warm skin. "Then you shall have me," he breathed. He kissed Severus tenderly, before making a small, needy sound and claiming a deeper kiss. He stroked his hands down Severus' sides, then between their bodies, brushing his thumbs over Severus' nipples before rolling them between his fingers, tweaking them to give Severus a hint of the roughness they both seemed to enjoy.

Moaning into the kiss, Severus raked his nails down the length of Remus' back, wanting to stoke Remus' desire even as he arched beneath Remus, seeking more of the rough play.

Remus arched into the slide of Severus' nails, pulling his mouth away so that he could moan in pleasure. If Severus wanted rough, Remus would give it to him quite happily. He was normally a mild man, and he thought those who knew him well would be shocked at the core of aggression he had within him, carefully leashed and almost never allowed to come out. It was a hidden part of him, but he thought Severus might accept it, and so he let it rise up, a growl escaping him as he pinned Severus' shoulders, fastening his teeth to Severus' neck and biting down harder than he had before; hard enough to bruise the pale skin and leave a mark, something that would leave Severus in no doubt as to Remus' desire for him, nor the subtle claim he was staking on Severus, body and soul.

With a cry, Severus threw his head back, baring his throat eagerly; he'd never had a lover bite him this way before, but he loved it, loved the pleasure-pain, loved feeling as if Remus was claiming him. He'd never experienced anything so erotic or arousing, and it made something guarded and tight within him loosen at last, and he clung to Remus to keep himself grounded even as he moaned a litany of "yes" and "more".

Severus' needy sounds were music to Remus' ears, giving him permission to continue, confident that Severus was enjoying his efforts. He didn't draw blood, but he did place a series of gentler bites over Severus' skin, working his way slowly down Severus' body. He lapped at the skin at the base of Severus' throat, enjoying the musky spiciness of his skin, before worrying the line of Severus' collarbone with his teeth. Lower still he moved, and then he captured one of Severus' nipples, nipping it and then soothing it with broad swipes of his tongue.

Humming softly, Severus combed his fingers through Remus' long, silky hair, enjoying the feel of it twining around his fingers, and he arched beneath Remus, unable to keep still under the onslaught of pleasure; every touch, every bite, every caress was stoking his need to greater heights, and soon he was gasping, panting for air, and he whimpered and wriggled restlessly. "More," he demanded, clenching his fingers on Remus' back. "I want more _now_."

Lifting up, Remus laughed as he looked down at Severus, pleased with the way Severus was being so demanding about what he wanted. Arching a brow, he smiled. "And just what does my Prince desire?" he asked throatily. "Would you like me to take you, or would you prefer to be the one who stakes a claim?"

"You may take me first," Severus replied loftily, caressing Remus' shoulders in a tender gesture that belied the hauteur of his words. "Since you're conveniently in place already, you might as well complete your claim on me."

"As my Prince wishes," Remus replied, his arousal flaring even higher, not only at Severus' words, but at the way Severus stroked him in a way that spoke of feelings beyond simple desire. He _wanted_ to claim Severus, to give him pleasure, to offer him a completion of more than just his physical needs. He reached out toward the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out the tube of lubricant he kept there for his occasional indulgences in solitary pleasure. 

Moving between Severus' legs, Remus stroked the skin of Severus' abdomen, and then he stripped away his boxers, baring Severus to his sight. He sucked in a breath as he admired the sight of Severus' arousal, and he couldn't resist the need to bend his head and offer Severus the pleasure of his mouth.

The feel of being engulfed by the wet heat of Remus' mouth wrenched a cry from Severus' throat; normally, he wasn't quite so vocal during sex, but he couldn't seem to help himself, especially since he knew Remus wanted to hear his pleasure. He stroked Remus' hair and cradled the back of Remus' head gently, letting his knees fall open wider as he gave himself over to his heightening arousal, unable to keep from rocking his hips slightly.

"Perfect," he murmured. "Feels perfect..."

Remus hummed with pleasure; he loved doing this for Severus, loved knowing that Severus was enjoying it. He reached for the lubricant again, uncapping it and coating his fingers. He gently circled the entrance to Severus' body, continuing to move his head as he prepared Severus slowly, taking his time to draw out the experience, memorizing the things which made Severus moan the loudest or buck his hips with need. He curled his fingers, seeking the sensitive gland within, wanting to give Severus every pleasure possible.

Groaning, Severus threw his head back, feeling his body growing taut as his desire escalated, rapidly reaching the breaking point; his skin was flushed and dappled with sweat, and his breathing was little more than shallow panting punctuated by moans. He wanted to prolong the pleasure, wanted it to go on forever, but whether it was desperate need born of longtime celibacy or born of an overwhelming reaction to Remus himself, he couldn't hold back. He felt himself poised on the edge - and then he fell, chanting Remus' name as he came undone at Remus' skilled hands.

Remus looked up Severus' body, wanting to watch as Severus lost control and shattered. He felt a fierce jolt of possessiveness; Severus was _his_ , and he didn't want anyone else doing this for Severus, for anyone else to see the way Severus flushed and cried out as he reached the peak. Remus didn't move until Severus collapsed back on the mattress, and then he stalked his way up Severus' body, kissing Severus deeply so that Severus could taste his own pleasure. 

"Perfect," he murmured against Severus' lips. "You are so perfect you take my breath away."

Severus wound his arms around Remus' shoulders and responded to the kiss eagerly, unable to remember anything more sensual than tasting himself on Remus' lips and knowing that Remus had wanted to take the time to offer him such exquisite pleasure.

"Your turn," he replied, nipping at Remus' bottom lip. His features were relaxed in satiation, but there was a heated gleam in his dark eyes that made it clear he wasn't about to be passive in offering Remus equal pleasure. "Go on, then. I want you to have me and make me yours."

Remus felt a tingle over his entire body in response to Severus' words, which echoed his possessive feeling so perfectly. "You are mine," he replied, moving into position. He held Severus' gaze as he slowly eased forward, moaning as he felt himself welcomed into Severus' body. He was trembling with eagerness, sweat beading his skin, but he wanted to take the time to savor the feeling of Severus' tight heat around him and of Severus' long legs wrapped around him. He held still for a moment, and then he began to move, no longer able to hold back from the need to take Severus, to claim him completely, to take his pleasure in Severus' body and hold nothing back. Beneath him, Severus met and matched his rhythm, rocking with him, spurring him toward the elusive heights of pleasure. He moaned Severus' name, and then he cried out as ecstasy overwhelmed him, the perfection of it almost more than he could bear. He gasped, sated and completely spent, as he collapsed down, moving to one side and pulling Severus into his arms. He slowly stroked the damp skin of Severus' back, nuzzling kisses to Severus' temple as he tried to catch his breath. 

"I'm yours," he murmured. "All yours."

Severus wrapped his arms around Remus and tangled his legs with Remus', exhausted and sated - and utterly content. "Good," he said, a hint of smugness in his voice. He'd never felt so satisfied after sex before or as comfortable with a new lover, and he had no qualms about relaxing completely in Remus' embrace. "I make excellent eggs benedict," he added as he pillowed his head on Remus' shoulder, throwing out a not-so-subtle hint that he wanted to stay the night. "My coffee is quite good as well."

"Mmmm, do you now?" Remus asked, lazy amusement in his voice. As if he would even be able to ever let Severus leave his flat again, after that! He continued to caress Severus, glutting himself with touch. "I suppose I can be prevailed upon to make the bacon and toast, then. In the morning. After a lie-in. And maybe round two?"

"That sounds acceptable," Severus replied, draping his arm across Remus' stomach and settling in now that he knew he wouldn't have to get up and leave. He released a quiet sigh and closed his eyes, unconcerned about his column or deadlines or anything else in the world other than whether they would shag in the bed or the shower next time.

Remus chuckled softly, moving his hand so that he could sift his fingers through Severus' hair. He felt Severus' breathing slow, and he gave in to his own drowsy contentedness, pressing a final kiss to Severus' forehead. "Good night, sweet Prince," he murmured as he drifted off. "And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

* * *

A year later, Severus wrote his last column as "E. Prince"; he answered two last questions and then bid his readers farewell. 

_While I am proud to have upheld my mother's legacy and grateful for the opportunity to help others in my own fashion, the time has come for me to move on and pursue more personal interests. With the encouragement of my partner, whom I am set to marry in October, I have recently finished a creative work. My first novel, in fact. I have long desired to establish a career for myself as a fiction writer, and I believe 'Princely Proclamations' has helped me hone my craft so that I am now ready to make that transition. I thank you for the years of loyal readership, and I wish you all well._

Two years later, Severus launched a book signing tour for his second novel in tandem with Remus, who was touring to promote his first novel, or at least the first one that had been published under his own name to critical acclaim. There was already talk in publishing circles about a literary award for this fresh "new" author. Severus' alter ego had slipped out once a collection of "greatest hits" from his column had been published, and he found himself requested to sign copies of that along with his works of fiction. 

If his readers were curious why he drew a tiny frog wearing a crown next to his scribbled signature, they rarely asked, but it never failed to make Remus smile.


End file.
